


Lifetime Achievement Award

by lepory



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, You know what I mean, but not enemies more like disgruntled rivals, but well get there when we get there, gonna be a bit ooc in that dept bc i hate the unforgiving way some of the characters were written, i will take a hammer and fix the canon, justice is functionally just intrusive thoughts to the max, lets try this again, mostly anders, no chantry boom, seriously fuck canon this is my universe and i get to pick the everything, so i scrapped it and am starting over, this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote last year but wasnt happy about how it was going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepory/pseuds/lepory
Summary: At the age of sixteen, a Symbol appears somewhere on an individual's body, symbolizing that person's soulmate. From then on, whenever their soulmate reaches an important point in their life, or makes a critical choice, another Symbol appears. The phenomenon is known to have appeared sometime around when the Golden City was tarnished forever, but not much is known beyond that, despite the copious magical studies.One thing known is that nothing is set in stone. Fate can be accepted, or it can be denied. The choice, ultimately, is yours.Anders is pretty sure fate is a punk-ass bitch, however.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Lifetime Achievement Award

**Author's Note:**

> just as some context that'll help you as we go along here; i've tweaked the timeline ever so slightly here and there, as well as taken my liberties with throwing the actual canon ending right out the window, because fuck that. im god now.  
> real talk though, you would not BELIEVE the amount of time i spent trying to figure out anders and fenris' timeline. it doesnt work without small changes, such as the well-known missing year for anders.  
> this is a rewrite of a work i wrote last year, so if youre getting a sense of deja vu, thats why. i didnt like how it was going so i just. more or less started over. quarantine changes a bitch. im a new man. i have new ideas now. many of them will hurt.  
> by the way, i do want to clarify: when i say soulmate, i dont necessarily mean romantically. its also platonic. soulmate just refers to the person who GETS you yknow? it could just as much be a best friend as a romantic partner. OR even a rival (but thats not what im going for w this one). its like, fate chooses the person, but you choose your relationship with them.

Mages aren't granted much individuality in most of Thedas. To show any sign of magic is to lose one's right to self. Once you accidentally set a girl’s pigtails on fire because she pushed your scrawny, ten-year-old self around one too many times, you can say goodbye to any normalcy your life may have once had. From then on, you’re a curse to anyone unlucky enough to know you – a curse the Chantry is all too happy to contain. 

Soulmate's Symbols, however, are too sacred for even the all-powerful Chantry to control. They can only do so much. And so, even though a young circle mage isn't allowed to leave, or even have relationships within their tower, the Chantry lets them keep their Symbols, and the hope they represent. You won’t find a celebration like you would outside the stone tower, but the mages take what they can get. Most templars will look the other way when a group of apprentices huddle close to admire someone’s new Symbol. You only get that experience once, and it takes a cold and cruel soul not to fondly reminisce on one's own sixteenth birthday. It's a soft spot, surely, but even the Divine has a soulmate.

The Ferelden Circle would be considered one of the lax ones, in this sense, but that means nothing when one makes so many enemies within his prison at such a young age. Said enemies being his jailers, with very sharp swords and legal immunity. By the time the boy they had dubbed 'Anders' was sixteen, he had already made two major escape attempts. This did not put him in good standing with the templars. Neither did his developing smart mouth or aptitude for mischief. Most of the other mages avoided him as well, in an attempt not to invoke any unnecessary ire from the templars; it was well known that most of them tended to have a short fuse around Anders, and you didn’t want to be around when they blew up.

When he woke up on the fourth of Cloudreach, 9:15 Dragon, Anders actively avoided mirrors, and he refused to look at his body while getting dressed. He wasn't sure if his Soulmate's Symbol was going to continue his recent streak of bad luck or break it, and he wasn't keen on finding out which it was. No one at the Circle knew his birthday (or bothered talking to him, for that matter), so there was no need to even acknowledge the new Symbol, and he fully intended not to. The boy made it three days before he had to face the reality of the Symbol on his scrawny bicep, and he most certainly would have made it much, much longer if that templar hadn't had the poor taste to intrude while he was bathing. It didn't even have anything to do with the appearance of his first Symbol, funny enough, but once the man saw that, it sure as the Maker didn't help.

The day just went from bad to worse after that. In pain and grossed out, Anders let his head loll and took in his Symbol for the first time through hazy eyes, since he hadn't the energy to do much else. He didn't have to be fully conscious to recognize the fairly common type of Symbol. Shackles, looped around a mage staff. Ironic. This was bound to be common knowledge by tomorrow. The incredulous puff of air that had escaped him was soon followed by a soft, pained groan as he groggily recalled the stories his father had told him, as well as his warnings.

"Soulmate Symbols can be just as much a curse as a blessing," he had said. "The Maker's lottery is unforgiving, and you ought to pray you don't wind up with the losers."

How true that had been. Anders should've prayed more.

Not everyone got to meet their soulmate. Fate told you of the one person who could make you more than you can be alone, but it didn’t always take you to them. It would direct you, but ultimately, you have to be the one to seek them. It wasn’t a clean-cut, definite rule so much as it was… a very strong suggestion. One that could be easily stamped out with the right boots.

And now here he lay, bruised on the floor of a bathing room in Ferelden's Circle Tower, with his first Symbol indicating his soulmate was a Tevinter slave. Something which some asshole templar was bound to already be spreading around the ranks, many of whom would be sure to use the unfortunate Symbol to make his life harder. Because that what just what templars did. And at this point in his life, Anders could at least be sure of one thing:

He was one unlucky blighter.

~

Despite all odds, life went on. Five years later, far away, a young boy won a competition, and a crown appeared on Anders' arm.

The gold seemed almost iridescent against his skin, and the red adornments were unquestionably glowing. In the dark, it gave off the slightest amount of light, and Anders wouldn't lie - it fascinated him. Despite his many attempts to push his soulmate from his mind and take what he could get, Anders frequently found his idle thoughts buzzing around the combination of a slave' Symbol and a glowing _crown._ When his insomnia kept him from sleep, he sat in the dark and tried to puzzle out who his soulmate could be from the two paradoxical Symbols he'd been given.

It was calming, somehow, coming up with all of the possibilities of who his soulmate was, and what they could possibly be doing right now. Somewhere out there was someone who would truly understand him, who could love him unconditionally should they find each other. He found himself dreaming of a future with a person he would probably never know, the ideal life that he told himself he didn't want, but his subconscious spoke different. He absently considered the unnamed slave, and he hoped the crown meant something more for them, something _grand._ He hoped it meant they were becoming someone, someone they wanted to be. He hoped they had found a better life then him.

He wrapped them when he didn't have to wash, though. He had many reasons, and he told himself they were all his own beliefs, and they weren't dictated by anyone or anything around him because he was a strong individual, Maker be damned. Anyone who spoke to him knew him as a young man with a hatred for the Symbols, either because he outright said it, or he avoided the topic altogether. Truly, he had perfected dodging the question as an art form. Symbols that are more than just a flat-colored image are rare, and he already wasn't very well received by most of the Circle's denizens. No one knew of the crown, except for one person.

He _had_ a lover, and he was happy with him. That was his other reason. He loved Karl, and Karl loved him. He was one of the only people in the Circle who respected him, if not _the_ only person. They were _happy._ And, as long as they were careful, safe. But that didn't change the distaste that showed on Karl's face when he saw Anders' Symbols. It didn't change Karl's insistence that he keep a wrap over the Symbols on his arm, so that they might have an untainted relationship. It didn't keep Karl from staring at the cloudy and dull Symbol on his own wrist when he thought Anders wasn't around.

Anders pretended he didn't see. He pretended he wasn't a strange, uncommon case for Symbols. He pretended he didn't notice the way his lover avoided his left arm. He pretended he wasn't a stand-in for a dead soul mate. He pretended that, even if he was stuck in the Circle, he could be happy.

He pretended that he believed it.

~

Less than a week later, his third and fourth Symbol graced his skin, and Anders woke up screaming in agony. His arm burned more than when he had accidentally scorched himself with a fireball. The templars didn't actually investigate. Expecting another escape attempt, they threw the still-sobbing young man in solitary and washed their hands of the whole charade.

Alone, though, he had plenty of time to recover and investigate without interference. The pain didn't go away, but it did lessen, little by little. Three days later, Anders could move his left arm again. Six days, and he could get his shirt off to see what happened.

He didn't know what he expected; a Symbol? So soon? It was basically unheard of, but technically not impossible. Rare, but not impossible. _Two_ symbols, on the other hand? Certainly not. That didn't happen. Ever. It had never happened. Until today, in a small, dark solitary confinement cell in the Ferelden Circle tower. Life was wicked like that, and at this point, Anders had accepted that it was all a joke and he was the Maker’s punchline.

Wearing the crown tattooed on his shoulder was a white silhouette of a wolf head, just barely visible on his sun-starved skin. It certainly looked regal, but it didn’t keep his attention for long. No, what interested him was the source of the throbbing pain in his arm.

Anders was unsure if the band around his bicep - the other image that appeared - could even be called a Symbol. If the crown glowed, the band was lit up like Val Royeaux _._ It was its own light source. And it moved, beyond iridescent. It was almost like it was alive. And Maker's _balls,_ did it hurt. It buzzed and hummed like a thousand bees were trapped under his skin, and if anything touched it, or rubbed against it, the pain flared to an unimaginable level.

He spent the rest of his two weeks in solitary building up his tolerance to it, and the rubbing of fabric against it. He kept his new Symbols a complete secret, even from Karl. He knew they were dangerous, even before he knew just exactly how much so.

It didn't take him long to realize the band was - _somehow_ \- lyrium. Refined lyrium dug into his skin, cutting a path through it. Refined lyrium, in his skin, that had _appeared overnight._ He ignored the deeper, darker, meaning of what this impossibility entailed, and instead opted to listen to it sing when he cast spells. They felt clearer and sharper, more precise (at the expense of being a beacon for demons). Fire burned under his skin, and molten power licked through his veins. Ice was cold, numbingly so, almost immobilizing his arm if he casted for too long. Electricity sent pins and needles through his entire body, and expanded the buzzing past his upper left arm. He found himself leaning towards healing spells, which he felt through his whole body in a way he hadn't before the new Symbol. They were a cool, pleasant tingle that lingered, one which helped alleviate the pain the Symbol caused.

For all intents and purposes, this was impossible multiple times over, and worse than the pain and the casting effects was the thought of what the templars would do if they found out. At best, Anders would be killed on the spot for being too dangerous. He didn’t want to know what would happen if they tried to make him tranquil.

Yet again, the world went on, as it would with or without him, and the odd lyrium band became just another part of his disaster of a life. But no matter how he covered his new Symbols, or tried to ignore the incessant buzzing on his arm, or found himself happy with his lover, Anders couldn't help but worry more for his soulmate with each passing day. He didn't know what the lyrium meant, or how it was even possible, but he knew it couldn't be good. He tried to pretend, but he couldn't convince himself. The crown that had been a source of pride was now an indication of an unknown evil.

If only fate had at least let him be blissfully ignorant for more than a week.

~

Anders kept trying to escape. It was a cycle: he’d make an attempt, and if he was successful, the templars would find him and drag him back to the Circle tower. Regardless of success rate, the punishment was severe; he had the scars to prove it. And it didn’t help that he was pretty. Then it all began again, because even just a taste of fresh air was worth the ensuing abuse.

Shortly after he turned 28 though, the higher-ups must have decided they were tired of Anders’ game. The cycle broke. They sentenced him to solitary confinement for a year.

_A year._

Truth be told, they probably expected him to get possessed, giving them an excuse to put him down and finally be done with him. But Anders was stubborn and spiteful. That’s not to say he was okay by any mark of the word, but he survived. He refused to cave. The lyrium in him drew many more demons than a normal mage would, but it also drew curious spirits. They helped him.

So did the new Symbol that appeared at some point. If you were to ask Anders when, exactly, he wouldn’t be able to answer. The whole year was a blur in his mind; a foggy, terrible nightmare. But he did know that it was what kept him sane, the reminder that he wasn’t alone. A dark grey cloud with a smaller, bright red one overlaid on it. It was simple, but it was something. Something to cling to.

Even as Anders lost himself, he kept his soulmate.

~

He escaped for good a month after they let him out. They didn’t expect him to be anything more than broken, much less conscious enough to escape so soon, but Anders was _angry_. Angry at the templars, angry at the Chantry, angry at the world. He wasn't going to hold back any longer. He caught the entire Circle completely blindsided, and he never looked back.

The templars hunted him, naturally, but a man can change drastically in a year. Especially when that year is spent with only his rage for company. He became sharper, more cunning, meaner. He also had the support of spirits willing to lend him aid.

And when the templars caught up to him, he never hesitated to cut them down.

Ironically enough, he was enjoying his freedom with a pirate named Isabela when his fifth Symbol appeared; she was the one who had pointed it out ( _after_ she was done with him, of course). A broken ball and chain. They both surprised each other - as well as themselves - that night.

Anders sobbed, and Isabela held him until he had no tears left to give.


End file.
